At Your Service
by luckyricochet
Summary: Modern AU. Musichetta thinks she'll need to cancel her date when she gets a sore throat, but her boyfriend is a medical student, after all. He might be the biggest hypochondriac on most days, but he'll risk any sickness for the girl he's mad for. Oneshot.


**A/N: Yay, more Joly and Musichetta! Again, I suspect I'm taking some serious liberties here with the living arrangements of the Paris Opera Ballet School.**

* * *

"_The very instant that I saw you did/My heart fly to your service."_

_- William Shakespeare, The Tempest _

* * *

Groggy from sleep and blinking it out of her eyes, Musichetta could feel it. Pain at the back of her throat, a burning, scratching sensation. Her head felt numb, her body chilly.

At least it was Saturday. Now she wouldn't have to miss class.

But she would have to miss her date. With the least amount of movement possible, Musichetta scrabbled around the bedside table and located her phone. A few seconds later and Joly picked up.

"Hello?"

"Valère—"

"'Chetta, what's wrong?" Joly's voice was sharp. "You sound awful."

"Sore throat," Musichetta said hoarsely. "And a headache. I can't go out tonight, I'm so sorry."

He didn't even address it. "Is your roommate there?"

Confused for a moment, Musichetta said nothing, and then, "No. She's got family over right now, so she's at her parents' for the weekend."

"I'll be right over."

"What!?" Musichetta half sat up in bed. "No, you don't have to, I'll be fine—" But he had already hung up.

So she would get to see him after all. Part of Musichetta felt guilty for making Joly feel obligated to visit, but she couldn't disguise her delight at his jumping straight to her side either.

Musichetta pulled herself out if bed and went to the sink to clean herself up so she wasn't a complete mess when Joly arrived. She brushed her hair and teeth and washed her face. It was good to freshen up a bit, but it was going to be a long day.

The knocking sounded oddly hollow and empty to her. She plodded slowly to the door to open it. Joly stood on the threshold, concern on his face. "How do you feel?" His voice was soft, gentle, reminding Musichetta of when she had first met him. Joly had a calming voice, she thought vaguely. Perfect for being a doctor and soothing patients.

She shrugged in response. "Oh I don't know. It hurts to swallow. And my head is pounding."

Joly felt her hand after coming in and shutting the door. "You're a little warm. Did you take your temperature? Why don't you sit down?"

Musichetta did as she was told while Joly rummaged around in his bag. "Open your mouth," he instructed. "A little wider, 'Chetta, just for a moment. I'm sorry, I know it hurts." After examining her, he sat down. "That'll do. It's not as bad as it feels, and not strep throat. Now, under your tongue." He placed a thermometer into her mouth. They waited quietly. Musichetta was still tired and closed her eyes.

Joly took a tissue from his bag and gave Musichetta a little tap when time was up. He wiped the end of the thermometer and read it. "37.8," Joly announced. "Just a little fever and sore throat is all."

Musichetta shrugged again and leaned over, falling onto the couch on her side. "Will you get me my blanket?"

Joly seemed reluctant to comply. "You already have a temperature, Musichetta—"

"It's so cold though!" Musichetta cried. "I'm so cold, Valère."

His faltered. "I'll sit with you," he suggested, and lowered himself next to her. Musichetta understood. She scooted herself over until she was close enough to put her head on him. Joly's arms went around her and pulled her in even closer to him. "Okay?"

Musichetta found his hands with her own and gave them a squeeze. "Yes. Can you hand me that book?"

Anything that distracted her was what she wanted. She read for nearly an hour, watched half of a movie on her laptop, doodled on a piece of scratch paper, listened to some gentle classical music. Anything that she could do to draw her attention away from the discomfort, she did. By early afternoon, though, she seemed to be overly taxed and put aside her diary.

"I'm tired…"

Joly kissed her head. "Take a rest, ma petite. Nap a little. You'll feel better soon..."

Falling asleep wasn't easy, though. Musichetta was aching all over and couldn't find a comfortable position. She stayed very still and tried not to toss and turn. That would bother Joly, and he was already doing her a huge favor by being there to help her. When she finally did drift off, however, her subconscious took over, and she constantly making adjustments in her sleep. Joly decided against waking her up, even though she was fretful. She seemed so much more miserable awake rather than not.

* * *

Joly kept track of the time. When he felt Musichetta awake for the second time that day, she had been sleeping for nearly four hours. He found that he had fallen asleep himself for a short while. The dorm had been dead silent and even though it was because Musichetta was unwell, Joly enjoyed being able to hold her.

She raised her head and looked around until she focused on Joly. Her eyes were drowsy, but they still held that perfect duality of ingenuousness and mystery that he so loved.

"What time is it?"

"Almost five."

Musichetta rolled over and groaned into his shirt. "I hate this, Valère. My throat hurts so much. My head too. I want to cry; I'm so tired."

Joly wasn't sure if Musichetta was being serious or not (he had learned that she was prone to using hyperboles quite often), but he suspected it was an honest statement. She was normally so lively and merry that only something truly bothersome could make her so distressed. It was painful for Joly to see her as morose as she was.

"Do you want a drink?" Joly asked. "You need fluids."

She perked up a little at the idea. "You know, some tea does sound pleasant right now." Musichetta started to rise, put Joly put a hand on her.

"I'll do it. You just relax and save your strength."

And then Musichetta smiled, for the first time that day, and Joly almost felt weak with relief. Joly hadn't seen Mushcietta smile yet; it was usually the first thing that greeted him when they met. He hadn't realized how much he had been missing it, until now. For doing such a simple task, Musichetta's face, which up until then had been haggard and sober, transformed into one of radiance and light. For doing such a simple task, he was rewarded with such an expression of gratitude that it reminded Joly why he was in love with her. It was probably the smallest smile she had ever shown Joly, but in that moment he thought it was the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Musichetta frowned a little. "What? Why are you looking like that?"

"I'm—I'm just happy that you were looking happier," Joly explained.

"I'm always happy when I'm with you," Musichetta said, like it was obvious.

"Now you're making me blush," Joly said with fake sternness. There was no kitchen in the dorm, but the ingredients were at hand anyway—Musichetta always had fresh produce on hand, and there was a kettle and pitcher filled with drinking water. Joly poured from the kettle a cup of hot water, and then added some cold water so it would be easier on Musichetta's throat. Fresh lemon juice into water and a small dollop of honey.

He brought it back into Musichetta. She had fallen asleep against the armrest, to Joly's amusement. Musichetta was the sleepiest person Joly had ever known. She could fall asleep anywhere and stay like that for hours. Nothing could wake her up; once she was gone, she was gone. This was all, of course, when she was in perfect health. If she was asleep again, maybe that meant she was a little better, even if she didn't feel it.

"'Chetta!" Joly whispered. "'Chetta, wake up."

It was useless; she wasn't going to wake up to such a hushed alarm. But Joly didn't want to jolt her out of her rest either. She needed it.

On the other hand...Musichetta loved her lemon tea with honey. It surely would cheer up when she got a taste of it.

"'Chetta..." Joly bent down and brushed a strand of dark brown hair from her face. Her eyelashes fluttered.

"Valère...?"

"I have something for you," he said softly, showing Musichetta the cup.

She reached out for it, pushing herself into a sitting position. Joly made sure she had a firm grip on it before letting go. Musichetta brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. After doing so, she lowered the cup quickly.

"What is it? 'Chetta?"

"It hurts!" Musichetta whimpered. "I can't swallow."

"Here." Joly sat where her head had been a moment before and laid her against him. "Lean your head back. Don't swallow and let the tea trickle down itself." He poured a little of it into her mouth, slowly, until there was none left.

"Valère?"

"Yes?"

"I want to go back to my bed. I won't use the blankets," she added. "Not if you don't want me to."

"Just the thinner one, all right?" Joly conceded. "When you get colder at night you can use more."

Musichetta brightened. She walked to her bed as if drawn there, Joly following. True to her word, Musichetta threw the thickest covers to the end of the bed and crawled under only the last one. Joly knelt down next to her level and swept his thumb against her cheek, the gesture as light as a feather. Her skin was still hot.

* * *

She slept well through the afternoon. Joly sat on the couch Musichetta had vacated, looking around. This was the first time that he had been at her dorm and had a good idea of it, even though they had been dating for several months now. It was much nicer than the one he had at the ENS, nicer than he'd thought. But students came to the Paris Opera Ballet School when they were eleven—Joly supposed that whoever was in charge of the dorms would them to be as comfortable as possible.

The sun had gone down. Joly had had to turn on a lamp so that he wasn't sitting in the dark.

Musichetta rustled on the bed. "Hey," he whispered. "You're awake again."

"Mm." She stretched. "I'm hungry, though."

Joly grinned. "I have something for you; I brought it with me." He took out a thermos from his bag and opened it. "Your favorite soup."

Musichetta leaned forward and inhaled. She sighed happily. "Merci beaucoup, ma chére."

"Do you need help?"

"I think I have it," Musichetta said. She tilted the thermos back and a steady but stream of the soup poured into her mouth. "See? I told you I could handle it."

"You sound better," Joly said hopefully. "Are you?"

"A little," Musichetta admitted. "Thanks to you. But it is also good just to sleep the day away for once," she added as an afterthought.

"Still tired, huh?"

"Afraid so," Musichetta said. "I'd like to just go until tomorrow morning, actually. I think I improve each time, so maybe one long run is what I need."

"Ah." Joly nodded. "Well, it's a little late—"

Musichetta's face fell. "Oh, that's right. I've kept you here all day. Of course, you want to get some rest yourself. I'm sorry."

Joly hesitated. He didn't want to leave until he was sure Musichetta was feeling better, but he hadn't prepared to spend the night either. That, and…he'd never spent a night with any girl before, even if circumstances were as innocent as they were.

"I won't leave, if you don't want me to," Joly said quickly. She seemed to have gotten the wrong impression.

"Well, you can if you'd like," Musichetta replied. "You've already been here all day of your own accord; I don't want to guilt you into staying just because of me. If you want to go back to your own dorm, that's fine. Really. I won't be mad or anything. I'll be okay by myself." She spoke earnestly.

"I'll stay," Joly said. "I don't mind."

Musichetta eyed him suspiciously. "You're not just saying that because you think you've upset me? I'm not upset."

"I know," Joly said. "But why would I ever want to leave the greatest joy of my life unless I was forced to?"

* * *

The sun dawned the next morning like it always did. Its rays of light spilled through the curtains onto the young couple. The bed they shared was small; with two bodies on it, it was a snug fit. Musichetta had her head on Joly's shoulder. His was arm around her and head tilted to touch hers. It was a peaceful scene.

They slept on.

_-fin-_

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Please review!**


End file.
